


Lights Out

by squidmemesinc



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Playful Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 13:35:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12558496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: Rodimus would rather burn off some steam before sleeping, with Drift's help.





	Lights Out

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing something else before this, and I usually don't change tracks in the middle of a project, but I really wanted (more) DriftRod, so ?? Here it is.
> 
> I'm gonna be starting a big project for nano starting Wednesday?! Wish me luck.

Not quite asleep, Rodimus is roused when the door opens, streaming light over his back. He doesn’t turn, waits for Drift to remove his _many_ swords and climb onto the berth behind him, which he does, instantly fitting himself against the curve of Rodimus’ back and curling his arm around his middle as his chin goes to Rodimus’ shoulder. Rodimus always runs warm, but the feel of another frame against his back is a soothing addition, mixed with the soft glow of Drift’s field seeping into his own.

“Hey,” he murmurs, keeping his optics offline as he snuggles in closer. “Everything okay?”

Drift hums, leaning the front of his helm against the back of Rodimus’ so he can feel the subtle vibrations. He presses a kiss to the base of it. “Taken care of. Everyone is appeased.”

“Thanks for going,” Rodimus says, his field prickling around the point where Drift’s lips had made contact.

“No problem, you needed a break. Did you recharge?”

“Not much.” He lies still for a brief moment before wriggling around to turn over and face Drift. He earns a kiss on the lips, which he smiles into. “I was waiting for you to come back. Feeling kinda restless.” Rodimus leans forward again, pressing short, soft kisses against Drift’s lips which grow longer in their lingering.

He feels Drift start to grin against him. It’s dark in the hab suite, save for the soft glow of biolights and the blue cast of the recharge equipment above them. “Yeah?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know what Rodimus’ meaning is.

“Yeah,” Rodimus murmurs back, kissing him again. “Jerk.” The syllable is lost in the shallow pause of their kissing, which shrinks to none as Drift tugs him in closer, shifting slightly over him to press into his mouth.

Rodimus moans quietly, responding with eagerness as Drift’s glossa flits around his. He bites at the other mech’s lips, sensing he’s in a teasing mood tonight and wanting to discourage that behavior before it gets too far. Drift responds with a little nip of his own, squeezing his sharpened denta into the soft metal of Rodimus’ lips, then quickly abandoning to suck at Rodimus’ glossa. Rodimus moves into up, arching his backstruts to press his whole torso into Drift. He spreads his legs slightly and pushes up against Drift’s crotch, feeling his equipment already warm. His own engine purrs, pleased, and Drift revs his in response.

Drift nudges Rodimus onto his back and fits himself between legs, rutting up against him so that they both gasp and edge deeper into their kiss. Rodimus slides his hands up Drift’s frame, playing at the intricacies of his paneling, the modifications he’s made to hold the Great Sword on his back, skirting his fingers underneath the mechanism to now seldom-touched parts of Drift’s back.

Drift presses up into him, and when he reaches the tenderest spots, goes momentarily limp over him, melting on top of Rodimus like he was made of putty and not metal. He shudders. “Ahh… _Rodimus!_ ” He sounds like he’s like he’s in heaven, and though he offers feeble squirms, he doesn’t manage to pull himself together. Rodimus clutches him to his own frame as he keeps tracing around, rubbing at the sensitive areas with his fingers.

“Hi,” Rodimus replies, nudging his cheek against Drift’s where his neck has dropped his helm into the crook of Rodimus’ shoulder. Drift is making a series of strange, pleasured noises that drawl into a sort of hum, and he wriggles more, but stays draped over the other bot, accepting defeat.

Rodimus pulls back from the seams eventually, running down to less stimulating panels, and tries to bring Drift back to kissing him. Drift squeezes himself up, nudging up against Rodimus’ paneling with renewed urgency and heat, turning his head to fit into his neck and suck at the cords there.

“Ooh…” There’s a twinge of ticklishness before Drift’s fangs find his metal again, and Rodimus spreads his thighs further, dropping a hand to Drift’s hip to grip and tug him up against him. His panels open and he gives a shudder of his own, feeling very needy all of a sudden.

One hand is wrapped around Drift’s shoulders, fingers splayed across his helm to hold him as he kisses down across Rodimus’ chest, never straying too far from his neck. The other tugs Drift against him now in a rhythm, trying to get friction from Drift’s flat, sealed plates against his valve. His spike occupies the unfortunate bubble of space that their plating doesn’t allow them to share, and Rodimus groans with the beginnings of frustration.

“Patience,” Drift murmurs against him, resting his hand against Rodimus’ cheek, thumb near enough his lips that he can lick it while Drift is busying himself with his jaw. “Hey!” He leans up, hovering out of reach of Rodimus’ mouth, and gives him a stern look.

Rodimus moves both hands to Drift’s aft and tugs him closer, returning his stern look with one of his own. “You’re teasing me,” Rodimus complains.

“You’re not usually so passive,” Drift replies, easing his frame back from Rodimus’ gently and leaning his weight onto one side. “I’m taking advantage of it.” He gives a _very_ devious smile as his fingers dance down Rodimus’ frame. One fingertip brushes his spike, and then he moves to the seam of Rodimus’ leg, ghosting over intricate wiring, but keeping from his wanting valve.

“ _Hnng_ , Drift come _on,_ ” Rodimus tries to tug him closer again, nearly making him collapse with the force of his movement.

Drift rubs his fingers over the slit of Rodimus’ valve, pressing against the wetness of his folds without dipping in right away, taking a moment to respond to Rodimus’ whines and wiggling to slowly push through, curling up and drawing down the wall of his valve immediately.

Rodimus groans and shudders again, his valve squeezing eagerly around Drift’s two fingers. “Yeah, like that,” Rodimus murmurs, trying to push back against him as he starts thrusting. He hears Drift’s panels release, finally, feels his spike nudge against his thigh, and keeps that fact at the back of his mind. For now, his attention is occupied with Drift’s fingers, pulling gently at the walls of his valve, easing him open a little wider, a little wetter, allowing casual brushes against his nodes without really trying to stimulate them at this point. Rodimus’ frame responds anyway, pulsing pleasure and encouragement through his field, sending shivers through his sensors.

Drift’s pulls his hand back and Rodimus whines again. He reaches up and pulls Drift flat against him again, knocking their chests together so that Drift lets out a soft ‘ _Oof_ ’ of surprise before Rodimus is kissing him again. Drift squirms in the other’s grasp to get himself aligned properly without breaking away from his lips, propping his knee against Rodimus’ thigh to give him a nice, sturdy point of leverage to slide his spike against Rodimus’ valve.

Rodimus lets out a choked sob against Drift’s lips, hooking a leg around his thigh and digging a pede into the back of his knee for a spot of leverage of his own. He ruts against Drift, trying to rut him _into_ him, though unsuccessfully. Drift indulges a little more teasing friction for his own satisfaction before he takes pity, giving Rodimus a small, playful, full-body shove to knock him loose, planting an apology on his lips. His hand goes down to squeeze Rodimus’ trembling thigh, giving it a squeeze before he guides his spike head to line with Rodimus’ valve.

Rodimus sings out a stream of babbles as Drift pushes into him, fingertips scrabbling at his back, getting louder with each passing second. “Are you okay?” Drift asks quietly. “You’re really tight.”

“Hhuh…” Rodimus indulges his payoff for a moment before replying. “That’s what you get for teasing me.” Both his thighs now hug Drift’s aft to him as happy shudders rack his frame. He circles his arms tighter around Drift’s back, sealing them together. Drift thrusts shallowly, trying to build up a rhythm even with Rodimus clinging tightly to him—something he’s had a considerable amount of practice doing, and is therefore something he successfully accomplishes.

Rodimus goes vocal again, not having ever really stopped, but picking up a louder level of noise on every thrust. Drift’s spike is solid against his slick, seizing valve. His calipers move easily to pull him in at the edge of every thrust, forced open whenever Drift moves forward. He feels tension building in his limbs, blossoming out from the point of their joining and coiling his springs thick and hard inside him. Each time he slips and the tension relaxes and threatens to make him overload, but Rodimus intends to draw this out further.

Drift rocks diligently into him, shifting his whole form up and back in the space they’ve worked loose between their frames. They’re at an easy pace now, sustainable, building bubbling exchanges of affection and need between their fields and surging friction through their sopping equipment.

Rodimus’ fingers creep up to Drift’s shoulders again, looking for holds to wedge into as he tries to anchor himself just above the pleasure. His fingers sneak towards the sword clamps.

Drift rolls his shoulder like he’s trying to shake off a pest, and his pace falters as he nearly collapses. “Roddy, _don’t_ ,” he gasps out with a hot, hard vent, shivering and aiming a hard thrust into him. To Rodimus’ audials, it sounds like an insincere plea. He wants to see how Drift holds up to having his sensitive bits stimulated while he’s fragging him hard, and so shoves his fingers under the gaps, quirking them at the top-most joint and pulling to give them a bit of hard, reluctant friction.

“ _Ah—_ huuh, _frag!_ ” Drift moans, kicking his speed up impossibly high as he crushes himself against Rodimus and pounds into him. His field ripples static stimulation in waves, and he’s clearly enjoying himself.

“Oh _Primus,_ Drift! _Ahh...!_ ” Rodimus groans, spasming around Drift as he feels transfluid heat his already hot valve, sliding slick and slippery with Drift’s twitching spike. It feels amazing, so good that he doesn’t even regret missing the window to overload with him. Drift’s composure melts out of his elbows and he collapses on top of Rodimus again, engine thrumming at a high, steady roar.

Rodimus withdraws his fingers for the second time that evening, running his hands soothingly over Drift’s back as he expels harsh vents, engine noise slowly dying down. After a moment, Drift struggles to shift them apart. “Rodimus…” he starts, still in the throes of afterglow. “Did you overload?”

“Mmmmm. No,” Rodimus admits, after weighing whether he’d like Drift to take care of him or if he’d rather just hold his adorable, limp frame a minute longer.

“Why’d you do that?” Drift groans, nuzzling into his neck as Rodimus traces another tender spot behind his kibble on his helm.

“Cuz I can’t reach that spot when I’m spiking you, and it’s fun.” He still holds a significant charge in him, burning between his legs, but he ignores it in favor of poking fun at Drift. This, too, is what Drift gets for teasing him.

Drift lifts his helm from Rodimus’ chest and smiles at him. “I love you,” he says, unprompted and honest. Rodimus is so struck by the comment that he fails to reply before Drift is kissing his way down his frame, sliding to edge of the berth.

“Drift—” he starts, but Drift is already licking into the mess of his valve, swiping his tongue up and into him so that he moans and melts down into the berth himself. “ _Ah…_ ”

Drift’s tongue circles his node and smooths across it, adding pressure with each new wave that has pleasure building up in Rodimus’ core again. He writhes, caught between wanting to spread his legs open and hugging Drift’s helm to him, and it eventually working out so that they do a little bit of both. Drift takes his indecisiveness easily by focusing on cleaning him out, sucking on his swollen lips, his node, bringing his vocalizations up in volume again. A lazy hand goes to his spike, stroking it noncommittally, but enough to have his systems routing pleasure through to his center from there as well.

Rodimus fits his hand between Drift’s kibble, clutching his helm between his thighs as Drift cleans him out. The tension builds up to what it was, past that point to where he wavers on the peak of it, trying to hold out for more, but eventually releasing to his own overload. Drift sucks and licks at his node relentlessly through it, making muffled noises of his own as Rodimus howls out his name, his pede braced against Drift’s shoulder though his hands tug him forward. He goes limp, knee sagging outwards and fingers slackening as Drift finally pulls back from him.

Rodimus vents as Drift pulls a towel out of his subspace, straightening them both up gently and carefully before he tosses it to the side and slides back up to where they’d started, at the head of the berth, with him pressed to Rodimus’ side. Rodimus turns towards him sluggishly, thrusting his helm under Drift’s chin as he continues to vent. Drift’s fingers trace lazy patterns across his spoiler so his field stays active and tingling, but the energy in both of them has died down considerably since the start. “Feel better?” Drift asks.

Rodimus doesn’t reply other than nodding against his chest and snuggling into him further.

“You popped my neck at the end there.”

“Did I?” Rodimus asks, feeling a little awed, hoping it hadn’t hurt.

Drift laughs. “Don’t worry, it felt nice. I didn’t realize it was so tense.” He giggles, and Rodimus joins him, and they squeeze each other until the laughter dies down into a comfortable silence. Drift’s engine hums nicely under Rodimus’ helm, and he feels the little spirals of tension eeking out of his body. He melts into the warmth of Drift’s embrace, and without even realizing it, falls into recharge a moment later.


End file.
